


Taking Steps

by passing-fanciful (kageygirl)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/pseuds/passing-fanciful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma knows what she wants from her pirate, and she's willing to take measures to get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Steps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bemusedbicycle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/gifts).



> For my darlingest BK, on the occasion of the anniversary of her birth. Happy Birthday, my delightful buttery croissant!

She's still wary of the steep ladder that leads down to his quarters--has to carefully back herself down it, instead of facing forward as he does, but then again, he's had a lot (a _lot_ ) more practice at it. She makes it down this time without incident, but when she gets to the bottom, a hard body pins her against the stairs, keeping her from turning around.

It's a body she's been getting to know pretty well--Biblically, some might say--but the thrill is in no danger of wearing off. If anything, it comes back stronger every time he touches her, fueled by something deeper and stronger than mere animal attraction, something she gets closer to putting a name to every day.

He covers one hand with his own, gently trapping it against one of the rungs, his hook doing the same as it curves around her left wrist. His voice at her ear is menacingly low, but intrigued, his breath ruffling a few strands of hair. "What're you thinking, love, sneaking aboard a pirate ship?"

She doesn't even try to fight him, just presses back into him, trying to get as much contact as she can. She's been wanting this, wanting to feel him against her, in a way that's dirtier than his usual gentle touches, rougher than his careful, deliberate caress. "I was thinking that was the first step in sneaking aboard the _pirate_."

He chuckles, nose pressed just below her ear. "Someone's feeling saucy today."

"Am I?" she asks, shifting to rub her ass against his hips, feeling an answering swell in response to her movements. "Is that how I'm _feeling_?"

He hums, a considering rumble, rutting lightly against her ass. "I suppose the only way to know for sure is to investigate the matter myself," he says, and her eyelids flutter at the dark promise in his tone.

Some days, she is _unspeakably_ glad that he can read her so well.

His hand tightens briefly on hers--a signal to keep hers where it is--before trailing up the back of her arm, thumb rubbing here and there, no pattern she can discern. He slips his hand under her shoulder and cups her breast, rolling the heavy ring on his index finger over her nipple. The feeling's dulled, diffused by her clothing, but he does it again, and again, until it peaks up, and she presses into his hand, seeking to increase the pressure. She can't help but shift her hips in response, until he leans into her, pressing her against the ladder, one of the rungs digging into her thighs.

"You're interfering with my work, darling," he says, and pinches her nipple between two fingers, making her hiss.

"Maybe you should work faster, then," she says, her voice a little strained. It's not just the want getting to her, it's the edge of danger. Giving up control doesn't come easy to her, even now, even with him, even if--or maybe because--she knows she can rely on him completely.

"I think not," he says, sounding amused, and reaches across her body to give her other breast the same treatment. The sleeve of his leather jacket drags across her sensitized nipple, building the ache between her thighs, honing her need to a keen edge that makes her muscles tremble and her breath ragged. Her left wrist is still trapped by the unyielding metal of his hook, and she grips the rung of the ladder tight, her nails biting into the wood. 

He leaves off teasing her breasts to press his fingers into her abdomen, above the pubic bone, and she jerks as the feeling pulses between her thighs. The motion drives her back against him, against the taut muscles and coiled power caging her in, and she holds back a moan. She drops her right hand down to grip his thigh, and he rubs against her, enough to let her feel how hard he is, for her.

"You wanted to know how you were _feeling_ , lest I forget." He cups her through her jeans, and she presses into his hand, needing the friction, god, so desperately. "Isn't that right?"

"Yeah," she says, just shy of a gasp. He pops open her button and works down her zipper with his knuckles, fingertips already slipping into her panties. 

His fingers skate down, parting her slick folds, sliding along her clit and teasing her entrance. "You feel like a wanton, Emma," he whispers, his stubble prickling at her cheek. "So wet for me. So eager to be sated." He noses at her cheek, his breath hot on her skin. "Is that what you want?"

She turns her head to kiss him, the angle awkward, sloppy, but she needs it, needs him. He wastes no time, bringing her off with a speed she'd regret if she weren't all but whimpering with relief, shuddering in the circle of his arms.

But it's not enough, not nearly enough, and she tightens her hand on his thigh, moving against him even as the touch of his fingers against overstimulated flesh makes her breath hitch. "Easy, love," he murmurs in her ear. "No need to fret." He kisses her neck, then grazes her with his teeth, his voice turning sharp as his bite. "We're not nearly done here."

He draws out his hand, his fingers painting damp trails across her stomach. He palms her hip, then tucks his thumb between her clothes and skin, freeing her wrist to do the same with his hook at her other side. "Bare yourself for me," he orders, tugging down in unnecessary emphasis; not that she's ready to let him know it, but his captain's voice tends to bypass her higher brain functions. Her hands are moving almost before she's processed the words.

She shoves down her jeans and underwear both, shimmying to get a little extra give past her knees, spreading her legs as wide as she can and not giving a shit whether she looks as desperate as she feels.

His hand slips under the hem of her shirt and traces almost casually up her spine, and she straightens, leaning into it. He pauses between her shoulderblades, curling his hand to scratch lightly at her skin, and she shivers at the unexpected sensation.

Then he wraps his other arm around her, the leather brace rough against her belly, and splays out his hand, pressing against her back, gentle but unrelenting, until she's bent at the waist. She braces her forearms on a rung of the ladder, curling her fingers around the edge.

She's going to have the grain of the wood imprinted on her palms, and she trembles at the thought.

His hand slips away, and she turns her head at the understated creak of his leather pants being unfastened, digging her chin into her shoulder. She feels his erection, freed and hot against her thigh, and she twists her hips, trying to widen her stance even further.

"Such an avid thing, you are," he whispers.

Then he's teasing her, first with a fingertip, then with the head of his cock, rubbing against her but not entering her yet.

"You need a map or something back there?" she breathes, eyes closed, rocking her hips back in a futile effort to get him to _fuck her_ already.

He gives her a dirty chuckle, and then brings up his hook, circling his wrist to twine it into her hair, tugging to pull her head back, leaving her staring at the square of night sky at the top of the ladder.

"If anyone comes on deck, the first thing they'll see is the look on your face as I take you from behind," he rasps out, and her breath starts to come short. 

It's not likely, and they'd probably hear someone on deck even if he did have another visitor--but she can see twinkling stars and a billowing sail, the hatch standing wide open, and a fresh wash of heat flushes over her, burning into the tips of her breasts and between her legs,

She gasps as he suits actions to words, working his way into her with a series of short, nudging thrusts that might just be intended to drive her out of her damn mind. She gives a harsh groan, and his hand grips her hip tight, a little too tight; she can feel him shaking with the effort to hold back.

"God, Killian, _move_ ," she grinds out, and the bastard fucking laughs, a tight, pained chuckle.

"You seem to misunderstand who's in command here, love," he says, in a tense mutter, and she's about to let loose a stream of profanity about a pirate who tortures _himself_ just to get to her when his hips snap into hers. He does it again, and again, and again, and she needs to save the breath she can barely catch.

It's just what she wanted, just what she needed when she climbed down the ladder, and she moans, arching her back, pulling against his hold on her hair just to feel the burn across her scalp. She reaches back with one hand and grabs the back of his thigh, digging into the leather with her nails. 

He swears, and his fingers leave her hip, dipping down to circle her clit, the heel of his hand pressed into her thigh to keep hold of his leverage. Her orgasm comes over her, inexorable and shockingly intense, and when she chokes out his name, his hips drive into hers until he's coming too, his movements jerky and tight.

She's in danger of folding up and dropping right there, but he supports her waist with his arm. He guides her upright with the hook still tangled in her hair, until he frees it to let her head droop to the juncture between his shoulder and neck. She lets him take most of her weight as she remembers how to breathe, and he drops a kiss to her forehead, his own breath puffing across her sweaty skin.

"Holy fuck," she pants out, and he laughs into the incredible mess that her hair must be.

"I've always admired your eloquence, my love," he murmurs, and her pounding heart thuds just a little bit harder at that extra note in his endearment, a frisson that shivers through her and finds an answering chord, deep inside her.

She wrangles her hand up and back to bury it in his hair and twist his head down for a kiss, gentle and languid. The angle must be hell on his neck, but he makes no complaint, and his thumb moves in quiet little strokes over her ribs.

She pulls back reluctantly, because she has a confession to make. "I don't think I can walk," she says ruefully, and not just because she'd trip over her damn pants.

"Then you shan't have to," he says, and scoops her up, sweeping her the few steps to the bed before she can even blink. When he sets her down, she goes to work on the mess that is boots and pants and underwear, but he tucks himself away and zips back up, and she gives him a quizzical glance.

"Going to close the hatch, love," he says, giving her a terrible grin. "Wouldn't want to give anyone an eyeful."

She manages to free herself in time to throw her wadded jeans at him when he comes back down the ladder. He bats them aside, eyes bright, and commences to work his way from her ankles up with his mouth on her skin, until she's the one pulling _his_ hair and breathing more of that eloquence he enjoys into the air of his quarters.


End file.
